


black sheep

by tinybro



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, M/M, buckle up kids this is gonna be long, hints of other ships because i multiship like a champ, like the entire cast is in here in one way or another, lots of strilonde interactions because i'm a sucker for this fam, witches and werewolves and vampires oh my
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-01-31 01:43:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12665706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinybro/pseuds/tinybro
Summary: Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are a witch of considerable talent. The arrival of a particularly lovely vampire in your quiet town heralds one hell of a shitstorm, but it's nothing you can't handle. Probably.





	1. Chapter 1

Your name is Rose Lalonde. It's mid-afternoon in the middle of the summer, and you're sitting in the dirt outside your more comfortably-shaded cottage, sweating in the heat. You can feel a drip of it running irritatingly close to your eye but you resist the urge to wipe at it, knowing you'd just smudge the makeup you'd taken great care in applying. Lining your eyes and painting your lips every day is nearly as much a ritual as the actual rituals you practice, and one you keep up with an almost religious constancy.  
  
There's nothing magic about the cosmetics you have such a fondness for, unfortunately. Perhaps you should look into changing that sometime.  
  
Dave leans against the low stone wall marking the division between your garden and the surrounding wild. His pale hair is bright in the summer sun. An odd pair of darkly-tinted glasses make it impossible for you to tell whether or not he's actually watching you. He's had the things for almost as long as you've had him, and you still have no idea where the hell he acquired them from. You've purposely never asked, certain the display of curiosity would give him too much satisfaction for your liking.  
  
You tune his presence out, closing your eyes to instead focus on the energy you can feel in the stones before you. Jet for earth, tiger eye for fire, quartz for air, jade for water, each laid at the appropriate compass points at the edge of the circle you've drawn in the dirt. The air out here is littered with the sounds of nature, birds chirping and insects buzzing and wind rustling the trees’ leaves. When you don't let yourself pay particular attention to it, these mundane noises all blend into a familiar sort of static and fade into the background until it feels otherwise silent.  
  
Just when you're sure you've bored him with your meditation, Dave’s drawling voice cuts through the quiet of the afternoon.  
  
“I know you can't see them, so just letting you know: your rocks still look an awful lot like regular rocks.”  
  
You brought his constant company upon yourself several years ago, and there are moments like now where you regret that decision deeply. For now you ignore him, keeping your focus on the stones in the circle before you. You know he craves some kind of response, but he can wait until your stones feel suitably charged. You keep your intent for them at the front of your mind, meditating on the words you've written on the scrap of paper lain in the center of your circle. Some like chants and verbal spells, but you've always had a predilection for the written word. It works for you. It also helps keep you from getting too easily tripped up by distractions, such as the sort you've unfortunately inflicted upon yourself in the form of Dave.  
  
When they feel ready, you open you eyes and gather the stones back up, smoothing out your dirt circle with swipe of your palm and brushing it off on your skirts. With just a touch, the piece of paper with your spell written on it crumbles to dust and you leave it to mix with the soil.  
  
“They aren't supposed to look like anything else,” you finally deign to answer Dave, standing to move about your garden. You crouch to bury each stone in their corresponding cardinal directions – jet to the north, tiger eye to the south, quartz and jade to the east and west respectively. “Shockingly enough, sometimes rocks are just rocks, even with magic.”  
  
He simply shrugs. “Just tryin' to be helpful.”  
  
“Yes,” you say dryly. “You're the very picture of helpfulness, as always.”

He straightens to give a mock bow, and your answering slow applause is every bit as sincere.  
  
As if sensing that there's a bit more work to be done, he absconds before you can call on that helpfulness. Rolling your eyes, you take up your bucket to fetch some water from the brook nearby. In the heat and dryness of the season, your plants could probably use some water.  
  
It's already fairly late in the afternoon when you're finished and cleaned up. You aren't a terribly tidy person, honestly, but your tools have all been more or less put away. You put distinctly more care into cleaning yourself up, as always, washing all the dirt from your hands and under your nails and carefully brushing it off your skirt before deeming the garment still clean enough for the rest of the day. There's still a decent chunk of daylight left and your sense of efficiency pesters you to do something useful with it.  
  
Your most pressing need at the moment is a trip into town to pick up a number of things you can't find or grow or make for yourself. That, you think with a glance to the sun and a sigh, might have to wait for another day. It isn't a very long trek through the woods to reach town, but there's enough you have to do there that the whole trip would probably take too long.  
  
You could hurry, though. If you make it quick and get what you need now, you won't have to make the trip into town tomorrow. You can have a lazy day at home. Sleep in, maybe, have a fresh loaf of bread to cut some breakfast from, use the daylight to do the necessary chores and light foraging and then sequester yourself inside with your knitting. You'd been wanting to experiment with working spells into the yarn to see if you could make your hobby slightly more productive.  
  
You squint up at the sun, already beginning its journey back down across the sky, and gather up your bag. You can make it. It will just be a quick trip.  
  


* * *

  
  
It was not a quick trip.  
  
Admittedly, this was your own fault. You hadn't actually needed anything from the Captors' little book store, but you've always had a hard time passing the place up without taking a peek inside. Sollux has always managed to get new works in with impressive frequency, given the size and remoteness of the town, and today he'd had some quality paper and ink as well. You'd ended up purchasing some mainly out of guilt for keeping him open so late, as well as a work of fiction that had caught your eye. You suspect your business alone makes up a decent chunk of his profits.  
  
The streets are significantly emptier at this time of the evening, after the afternoon bustle but before prime tavern hours. Fortunately for you, as a familiar crow pauses on a merchant's empty stall, already closed for the night, and gives you a wry look as it preens a wing feather.  
  
“You could probably just give up the witchy shit and open a library at this point,” it says in a distinctly human voice. “Between the crap you keep buying off Captor and all your own stuff. You need to come up with better hiding spots for your little writing projects, by the way. Everyone knows to check under the mattress when looking for juicy secrets.”  
  
“I know being quiet for more than a minute at a time is something of a lifelong struggle for you, but make an effort.” You shoot it a pointed sideways look, careful to keep your voice low and your face forward in case anyone happens to pass by. “At least don't speak while in town. Sooner or later, someone's bound to notice a talking crow.”  
  
Dave gives you an impressively flat look, given that he's currently a bird. “Caw caw,” he says dryly.  
  
“Better.”  
  
You know he's right, though. The sun has already set, the last traces of orange slowly fading from the western horizon. By the time you finish your last few errands and make your way home, the moon will likely be high in the sky.

That thought in mind, you speed up a little. There are some supplies you still might be able to get, if the shops happen to have stayed open late. And you need to pay Dirk a visit. Frowning, you open your bag as you walk, squinting to see the contents in the dim light and rifling through it with one hand. You had something to give him as well, but had you remembered to bring it...?  
  
Dave caws you a warning – thankfully like a proper crow this time – but you still fail to look up fast enough. Tearing your eyes from your bag, you only manage to catch a glimpse of dark fabric and intensely green eyes before colliding with the person before you.  
  
With a yelp, you stumble nearly disastrously, but the stranger catches you by the shoulders and steadies you with a strong grip. Unexpectedly strong, you think belatedly, as you collect yourself and properly take in the elegant looking woman before you.  
  
The dark fabric you’d noticed is a finer material than you can remember seeing anyone ever wearing in this town. In the dim evening light, you can just barely make out the true jade shade of the dress, well-tailored and stylish enough to suit the bigger cities. The woman herself is taller than you by a good several inches. Her short black hair looks carefully styled and shines prettily in the early moonlight, just slightly curling around her high cheekbones. Her eyes are positively vibrant against her dark skin, seeming to almost glow, and the look she’s giving you is lovely, soft and concerned.  
  
Oh. You're staring. And still leaning into her surprisingly strong grip. Her thumb rests against your collarbone, just beyond the edge of your blouse's neckline, and it's cool against your warming skin. Willing back the blush that threatens to rise in your cheeks, you straighten and take a step back out of her immediate personal space.  
  
Her concerned expression lingers. “Are you alright?” she asks, each syllable carefully articulated. “I'm sorry, I was...distracted. I should have been paying more attention to where I was going.”  
  
You're also distracted, present tense. She's wearing dark lipstick similar to the sort you favor, and it draws such attention to the shape of her lips. She's probably expecting a response. Damn.  
  
“I'm fine, thank you,” you manage, only maybe half a second later than would have been truly smooth. Go you. “It's quite alright. I think it's obvious I was distracted as well.”  
  
She smiles, the expression just faintly uncertain. It seems shy, almost. It's devastatingly charming. And perhaps it's only because of your fixation on her mouth – lord, that's an awful way to put it – rather, it's because of the _careful attention_ you had been paying her mouth that you notice her teeth. They're straight and white and perfectly tidy, save for the canines, which are oddly long and particularly pointy. It's an almost bestial look, thoroughly at odds with everything else about her. The contrast is captivating .  
  
Except there's fortunately still at least one part of your brain that hasn't been completely shut down by a pretty face, and that part isn't stupid.  
  
She bites her lip with those unusual teeth, and you tear your eyes away from them to notice that she looks somewhat hesitant. The apologies are settled and either of you could simply continue on your way now, but she hasn't, so...  
  
“Are you visiting someone in town?” you ask, hopefully not too abruptly. “I haven't seen you around before.”  
  
She looks almost relieved that you said something. “Oh, no. I just moved to the area earlier this week. I’ve been looking to relocate away from the bustle of the city, and there was this lovely, grand old house that had apparently been out of use for some time...”  
  
“I know the one.” The old Egbert manor, you can only assume. It had been the residence of the mayor's family through many generations, since near the town's founding, but a number of structural issues had made it an undesirable place to live in recent years. Rather than continue the cycle of constant repairs, the Egberts had simply relocated to a newly made building several years back. Conversationally, you add, “It was in need of work, last I heard.”  
  
“Yes,” she admits with a slightly lopsided smile – baring those teeth again, just in case you'd begun to forget them. “I suppose one could call it a fixer-upper.”  
  
You smile back as pleasantly as you can. It isn't much of a struggle, honestly. “Where are my manners? My name is Rose Lalonde.” You offer a hand, and she shakes it with a warm expression and cool fingers.  
  
“Kanaya Maryam,” she says. “It's pleasure to meet you, Miss Lalonde.”  
  
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Maryam.”  
  
There are spells you could do, charms you could make, that would tell you for sure if your suspicions are correct. But those would all take preparation and time, and a glance to the side provides you with a potentially neater solution.  
  
“You're out late,” you continue, and lift your bag of purchases demonstratively. “Did your errands run long as well?”  
  
“Er,” she pauses, and then, belatedly, “Yes, I was quite busy all afternoon. It got dark before I even realized the time.”  
  
She's only carrying a small purse, you notice, which she fiddles with almost nervously. Smiling soothingly, you gesture to a brightly lit building just across the road. It's still early enough that the tavern hasn't gotten too boisterous yet. “Then surely you're free to join me for a drink? You'll have to acquire a taste for the local specialties if you're going to be living here now.”  
  
She follows your gesture with her eyes, and her smile shrinks by a few molars. “Oh, I wouldn't want to monopolize your entire evening...” she starts, and you wave her protests off with an airy gesture.  
  
“I insist. My treat. Consider it your welcoming gift, until I've had an opportunity to put together something better. You've really put me on the spot here, after all.” With a wry expression, you hook your arm through hers and lead her just a little forcefully across the way. Pressed closer, you can tell it isn't just her hands that lack warmth. You can't feel any body heat coming off her at all. Overhead, you hear a crow cawing, and you swear he manages to sound judgmental somehow.  
  
You release her by the door to the tavern only to – rather boldly, you think – take her hand in yours, touching the back of your other hand  to hers as if gauging the temperature. You adopt a concerned expression. “You're awfully cold. Are you feeling alright?”  
  
“Oh! Er.” She hesitates, and retrieves her hand with an uneasy smile.  
  
“And you're looking rather pale.” In the light case from the tavern's windows, you can see her dark skin has an unhealthy ashen look to it.  
  
“Um. Yes.” A moment's pause, just long enough to be a bit awkward, and she theatrically lays a hand across her forehead. “Yes, now that you mention it, I suppose I do feel rather ill. Perhaps I should head home to rest...?”  
  
“Why don't you just sit down for a bit first? Perhaps a warm drink will help.” You smile blithely, and open the door to the tavern. You cross the threshold, then turn and wait for her, door held open politely.  
  
She doesn't move, and you hear the crow's warning caw again.  
  
“Miss Maryam...?” you prompt, voice laden with concern, and she grimaces.  
  
“I can't...I mean, I should really – “  
  
“Won't you come in?” you say gently, and her nervousness seems to suddenly dissipate. Tension leaks out her shoulders, and she bites her lower lip before smiling.  
  
“Oh. Well. I suppose one drink would be alright.” She follows you over the threshold, and you can't decide whether you feel triumphant or faintly sick.  
  


* * *

  
  
So. You're quite certain your new friend is a vampire. If the fangs, deathly pallor, lack of body heat, and inability to enter a building without being invited didn't give it away – which they _did_ , because you aren't an idiot – the fact that she's only been pretending to sip at her tea for the last twenty minutes might have solidified it.  
  
You aren't terribly surprised, really. You're a witch. One of your closest friends is a werewolf. You've summoned up demons. You've always known vampires existed, and given the way the rest of your life has worked out so far, it was probably inevitable that you'd meet one sooner or later.  
  
Fortunately, she seems genuinely pleasant. You'd been half-worried as you ordered your drinks and sat down that you had discovered a vicious monster hiding in your town, one that you would have to dispose of for everyone's safety. But in the half an hour or so since you've sat down, the conversation has been easy and comfortable. She told you how settling in at the manor was going, about the locals she's met so far and her interactions with them.  
  
If nothing else, she's been here almost a week and there have been no mysterious disappearances or tales of monsters attacking people in the night. That was probably a good sign.  
  
“You made this?” you say, eyebrows raised, and lightly brush your fingertips over the lace cuff of the dress' sleeve. “I assumed it must have been from some fancy shop in the city.”  
  
“It's a hobby of mine,” Kanaya confesses, and her smile seems more self-assured this time around. “I find sewing and designing clothes very enjoyable. Unfortunately, I've only so much room to store everything I've made for myself. I might have to convert one of the manor's rooms into a walk-in closet. Freedom to do as I please with the place is certainly a benefit of living alone.”  
  
“You moved here by yourself, then?” You can't help but prod. She seems to hesitate for just a moment.  
  
“Ah...yes. My family remained in the city.” Kanaya pauses, and then suddenly carries right on. “Would you like me to make you something sometime? I'm admittedly always looking for excuses for new projects.”  
  
It doesn't escape you that she changed the subject – rather unsubtly, really – but you smile and let her get away with it. “I suppose I could give you an excuse sometime.”  
  
She smiles back, and you can't help but think it's dazzling, even as it puts her fangs on display.  
  
A tapping startles you out of your reverie, and you glance to the side to find a crow perched on the sill of the window beside you. Dave taps his beak against the glass again and caws before taking flight and disappearing into the darkness. Looking out the window, you find the sky is now pitch dark and spotted with stars. The moon is shining brightly, not a cloud to hide it, and already a fair bit into its journey across the night sky.  
  
“Are crows very common here?” you just catch Kanaya asking, her still-full teacup held up as if she'd just been sipping at it, and you bite back a sigh.  
  
“Common enough. The forest is very close, after all. But speaking of...” Setting aside your own empty cup, you stand. “I should probably be going. It's gotten late, and I still have a trek through those woods ahead of me to get home.”  
  
“Oh!” Her lips form a neat little 'o', perhaps surprised or concerned. “I didn't realize you lived outside of town. I shouldn't have eaten up so much of your evening just babbling on.” She seems to hesitate for just a moment before adding, “Would you like me to walk you home? It must be unnerving to have to walk through the forest alone at night.”  
  
It strikes you as a kind offer, and one you're tempted to take. The rational part of your brain, however, suggests it might not be wise to wander into the woods so late in the evening with a vampire. Even one who'd proven to be as pleasant as Miss Maryam.  
  
“I'll be fine,” you say, smiling apologetically. “I know the way well. And you should probably hurry home yourself. You did say you weren't feeling well.”  
  
“Oh. Yes. You're right.” She averts her eyes, coughing softly into her fist. It's fortunate you find her acting endearing, because you'd probably feel embarrassed on her behalf otherwise. “Yes, it would be wisest to head home and rest. Sleep.”  
  
Gathering up your bag, you nod. “Make sure you do,” you say. “I'm sure I'll see you around.”  
  
“Have a safe trip home,” she says, and it sounds so sincere. “Goodnight, Miss Lalonde.”  
  
You take your leave before you can be tempted to stay any longer. Turning down the street towards the edge of town, you catch a glimpse of a winged shadow passing overhead. Dave keeps pace with you as you walk, fluttering from rooftop to rooftop, always keeping you in sight.  
  
Perhaps it wasn't wise even just letting a strange vampire know that you'd be making a trip alone through the woods late at night. You aren't particularly worried, not after your brief evening with Miss Maryam, but your familiar's constant presence is comforting nonetheless. Except his eye catches yours as he pauses to perch on a windowsill, the light from within illuminating his feathered face, and you really didn't think it was possible for a bird to look so judgmental. That sense of comfort dies quickly.  
  
The crow hovers above until you're out of the town proper. The moment you cross into the forest, following the slightly overgrown path that cuts through it, he drops down beside you and suddenly he isn't a bird anymore but instead a young man again staring you down through tinted lenses, . But perhaps he hasn't realized what you have? He wasn't nearly so close, after all, and –  
  
“Rose,” he says, his tone pointed, and you sigh.  
  
“Don't.”  
  
“Rose,” he repeats, his expression very flat. “You were trying to mack on a vampire.”  
  
You frown, lifting your chin and trying to appear aloof and unconcerned. “I was trying to ascertain whether or not she _is_ a vampire,” you correct him.  
  
“By flirting with her. Overtly, intensely flirting.” He shakes his head. “Holy shit.”  
  
It takes all your willpower to not stalk off on ahead. There wouldn't be any point, anyway. It's pretty difficult to lose someone who can fly, and who also happens to be bound to you magically. “How could you even tell what she was from the roof?” you shoot back, perhaps a bit more snappish than you intended.  
  
“She smelled like dead shit,” he responds with just a shrug, and you wrinkle your nose.  
  
“I'll consider myself lucky that my nose is far less sensitive than yours, then.”  
  
“The corpse smell would probably be a hell of a turn-off, huh?”  
  
You exhale a breath through your nose, and resign yourself to a miserable walk home.  
  


* * *

  
  
You head back into town the very next day. Yesterday's encounter was certainly intriguing, but it also interrupted your errands and left a few tasks still undone by the time you'd had to head for home. At the very least, the bright afternoon sun and cloudless sky should prevent you from being similarly distracted today.  
  
Stopping by the bakery, you nearly bump into a tall, clean-cut man with a prominent nose on his way out the door. The smile he gives you is pleasant, and the way he stops to hold the door for you is as polite as ever.  
  
“Good afternoon, Miss Lalonde,” he says, and you have to make your guess quickly.  
  
“Hello, Mr. Crocker,” you respond, and the acknowledging little nod he gives you before continuing on his way confirms that you nailed it.  
  
Identical as they are in both appearance and manners, Mr. Crocker and his twin, Mr. Egbert, frequently trip up you and probably most everyone else in town. It's unfortunate that Mr. Crocker took his late wife's name when he so thoroughly embraced her baking business. You might have been able to simply call either “Mr. Egbert” otherwise.  
  
Inside, his daughter Jane is manning the counter, and she cheerfully fetches you the bread you needed, as well as a few sweeter treats for later.  
  
“Have you met the young woman who just moved into the old manor?” she asks as she passes you your purchases.  
  
Well. It seems Miss Maryam's presence manages to follow you even during the daylight hours.  
  
“Did she stop by?” you ask, trying to hide your surprise. You're fairly certain that vampires can't stomach ordinary food. Then again, Miss Maryam had been trying awfully hard to play human when you met her. Would she make herself ill for the sake of that act?  
  
“No, I just bumped into her in town the other evening. Maybe I'll get a new regular, though?” Jane grins, and you feel just mildly guilty knowing how unlikely that is. “She was perfectly charming. She was telling me about how she likes sewing and  offered to make me a dress sometime. I'm not sure she'd have much fun making anything that suits me, but it was nice of her to offer.”  
  
You have indeed noticed Jane's preference for the simple and comfortable. It really is at odds with what you'd seen of Kanaya's rather fashionable sense of style, but you give Jane a pleasant smile regardless. “It couldn't hurt to take her up on that offer. At worst, you might end up with something suitable for special occasions.”  
  
Jane shrugs, but her smile is good-humored. “For Christmas at John's, maybe.”  
  
“She offered to make me something, too,” you confide as the door to the shop chimes its opening. “Christmas with the Egberts might be a much fancier event than normal this year, at this rate.”  
  
Speak of the devil, John himself suddenly leans over the counter beside you to interrupt. “Why's Christmas gonna be so fancy? Hi, Rose,” he adds with a bright, bucktoothed grin aimed your way. He reaches over the glass display case, fingers straining to reach a croissant near the back of the shelf, and Jane simply nudges it within her cousin's reach with an eye roll and an exasperated smile.  
  
“Hello, John,” you say, lips curving with amusement at their interaction. “Miss Maryam up at the old manor seems determined to deck everyone she meets out in her handmade fashions. Don't be surprised if you receive such an offer yourself.”  
  
“Oh yeah, dad and I went to say hi the other morning! He said it would be the neighborly thing to do, and he had a duty as mayor to welcome her to town, and blah blah.” Nibbling at the end of his croissant, John shrugs. “She seemed kinda shy, I guess? Like, she was practically hiding behind the door and seemed in a hurry to get us to leave.”  
  
“That's strange,” Jane says, frowning. “She and I were chatting for almost half an hour when I saw her.”  
  
“Perhaps men make her nervous?” you suggest. It seems more likely to you that it was the morning sun making her uneasy, but you think it would be cruel to out her like that. It's not as if vampires and other creatures of the night don't have good reason to hide. Hell, you've only told a select few townsfolk about your own magic.  
  
John, for instance, who simply shrugs and seems to accept your suggestion at face value. “Yeah, maybe,” he says, and turns back to Jane. “By the way, dad wanted a a chocolate cake and some of those lemon cookies you gave us last time.”  
  
“Only one cake today? Mr. Egbert must be on a diet,” you quip as Jane bustles around to wrap the sweets up for her cousin. A sensation of fur brushing against your leg draws your eyes downward to  find a certain black cat rubbing up against your ankle. “Ah, there you are.” You bend to scoop her up, and John gives you a curious look.  
  
“I see that cat around here a lot. Is it yours?”  
  
“As much as a cat that wanders this much can truly belong to anyone.” Roxy meows at him in greeting from your arms, like a proper cat, before scrambling up onto your shoulder and hopping onto the counter from there, just as Jane's returning. The young baker brightens and sets John's packages to give the cat a scratch behind the ears.  
  
“Hello, dear,” she coos, and Roxy rubs her head up against those fingers while Jane turns to settle the payment with John. You shoot your familiar a wry look, but she's pointedly ignoring you in favor of a good petting. Greedy for more attention, she arches back to hook her front paws around Jane's petting hand. The cat tugs and topples backwards onto the counter, and with a chuckle Jane complies with a thorough belly rub.  
  
A nudge at your side draws your eyes from Jane and Roxy's antics, and you find John surreptitiously slipping the small package of cookies into your palm.  
  
“Wanna give those to Jade next time you see her?” he whispers, and you catch his vibrantly blue eyes glancing Jane's way to make sure she hasn't noticed.  
  
“You could simply go visit her yourself,” you answer coolly, but slip the treats into your bag regardless. You know how this conversation will go.  
  
“I've been busy lately!” His voice raises in volume a little with his protest, and Jane looks your way curiously. He shoots her a nervous smile, and Roxy saves him from any questioning by meowing loudly and batting at Jane's hand until her attention returns.  
  
You have an arched eyebrow waiting for John when he looks back at you, and turn away from the counter so your lowered voice won't drift into the wrong ears. “You might also tell Jane sometime that her cousin is a creature of the night, prowling the woods for prey to sink her teeth into.”  
  
John pulls a face. “Don't say it like that,” he says, remembering to whisper again this time. “I'm gonna tell her eventually! It's just hard to bring up, y'know? How do work that into a conversation? _Hey, by the way, Jade's a werewolf now!_ ”  
  
“That would work,” you say, lips curling slightly. “As would any number of other options I can think of off the top of my head. Perhaps I should be the one to tell her?”  
  
“Rooooseee,” he whines and tugs at the strap of your bag. “Don't! Do not tell my cousin that my sister is a werewolf. Do not. I will melt you.”  
  
A smile escapes the steely trap of  your poker face. Damn him. “Witches don't actually melt, John.”  
  
“I will find a way. Watch me.” He pokes your side and grins. “I'll slay the evil witch in the woods and become a famous monster hunter.”  
  
“And then immediately become embroiled in scandal when word gets out that your own sister is a werewolf. How dramatic.”  
  
He jabs you once more, and you collapse theatrically into his arms, playing dead until the chiming door startles Roxy into jumping onto the both of you, and Jane has to shoo you all out to help the actual customers coming in.  
  


* * *

  
  
Your final errand before heading home for the day takes you to the blacksmith's, with Roxy at tagging along at your heels and Dave circling overhead. The air on this summer afternoon is already warm but here it's downright sweltering from the heat of the forge. You find a muscular man working the bellows, sweating profusely as the forge's flames intensify. Not that you can really blame it on the heat; he's just kind of a sweaty guy in general.  
  
“Equius,” you say in way of greeting. “Is Dirk around?”  
  
The brawny man straightens to nod at you, grabbing a cloth to wipe the perspiration from his face. You unfortunately notice that it's already thoroughly damp with sweat.  
  
“Miss Lalonde,” he says, wringing out his sweat cloth. A distressing amount of liquid squeezes out to splatter into the dirt, and Roxy makes a displeased yowling sound as she darts back to hide behind your skirts. “He's inside. Shall I fetch him for you?” Equius moves to set his makeshift towel down and step towards you and you hastily wave him off.  
  
“That's quite alright,” you reassure him with a polite smile. He's an alright enough fellow, you suppose, but you'd rather not deal with his rigid manner or his scent for any extended period of time, or in any kind of confined space. You hurry away to duck inside the adjoining shop.  
  
Inside, you find Dirk sitting with a sword in hand, running its blade across a whetstone with a practiced motion. His eyes are hidden by an oddly-shaped pair of dark glasses, as usual, but you see his chin lift slightly as you come in.  
  
The hint of a smirk you aim at him is decidedly wry. “Hiding from Zahhak?”  
  
His expression doesn't shift, save for the very slight raising of his eyebrows. “Are you suggesting I found busywork for myself so I wouldn't have to smell my partner?” he says, tone cool and even.  
  
“It's particularly warm out today.”  
  
He sighs. “It sure as fuck is,” he admits, and gives the blade one more pass over the whetstone before setting it aside. “Picking up?”  
  
“And delivering.” You reach into your bag and pull out a small satchel you'd prepared during the last new moon. “For business success. Hang it over the doorway.”  
  
Head tilting slightly, he stands and takes it from you. “What'd you use?”  
  
“Aventurine, basil, a lodestone.”  
  
Dirk nods. “Thanks,” he says, pocketing the charm. He bends to retrieve a wrapped object from behind the counter and passes it to you in trade. “And that's yours. Not as fancy, but it should get the job done.”  
  
You can't help but pull the wrapping back a little to peek. The metal that glints back at you is beautifully precise and sharp.  
  
“It's perfect.” You give him a small smile and rewrap it, tucking it safely away in your bag. He doesn't smile back – he rarely does – but he seems satisfied somehow regardless. Roxy pads over by his feet and he crouches to give her a pat. You'd say she's getting spoiled today, but you suspect she spends a great deal of her time wandering the town entreating the locals for attention like this.  
  
As is solely to further convince you of that, the shop door swings open again and a short girl bounces inside, practically radiating energy. She looks halfway to saying something when she catches sight of the cat and immediately abandons that thought in favor of a delighted shriek. Perhaps well-aware of who the more skilled petter is, Roxy promptly leaves her spot by Dirk's feet over to approach the girl, who's quick to drop to her knees and scoop the black cat into her arms.  
  
“Hello _purr_ ecious!” she croons, eagerly scratching behind the cat's ears. Roxy appears to be eating it up. Unfazed by how easily he was abandoned, Dirk straightens and inclines his head in greeting. “Hey, Nep. Zahhak's outside.”  
  
“I know! And hi, Rose! I didn't know you were here!” Nepeta shoots a bright smile your way and holds Roxy up, making one of her front paws wave at you. “Is she yours?”  
  
“In a sense,” you reply, and arch an eyebrow at her. “Do you have some sixth sense for the presence of cats? I just can't imagine why you would pass up Equius for us lesser beings otherwise.”  
  
“I wish!” Making herself comfortable there on the floor with Roxy in her lap, Nepeta looks up at the two of with large, excited eyes. “I have news! I told Equius already but I wanted to tell Mr. Stridefur too!”  
  
You shoot an amused glance Dirk's way. _Stridefur_ ? He doesn't even bat an eye. “What's going on?” he asks instead.  
  
“John's cousin Jake is gonna be stopping in town with his whole hunting party!” Nepeta bounces in her seat, turning Roxy towards her to clasp the cat's paws. “It's so exciting!”  
  
You can't help but frown. You'd just seen John. Why didn't he mention it himself? Dirk, meanwhile, just arches an eyebrow over the top of his stupid glasses, pointing out coolly, “Nep. _You're_ a hunter.”  
  
“Not like that!” she protests, pouting. “They're monster hunters! They've been adventuring around slaying werewolves and witches and all kinds of scary beasts! They're gonna have the _best_ stories!” Roxy goes very still in her lap, and you force yourself to keep a straight face as Nepeta obliviously carries right on with her excited babbling.  
  
Ah, you realize with a sinking feeling. That's why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is very loosely based on a little tumblr post i remember seeing forever ago about an AU involving rose as a witch and dave as her crow familiar and kanaya as the ridiculous vampire who thinks she's very clever and mysterious. i cannot for the life of me find said post but if anyone knows what i'm talking about please shoot me a link so i can give them a shoutout!
> 
> also this is baby's first fic so comments would IMMENSELY appreciated thank you :'>
> 
> bother me on tumblr @ tinybro.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter 2

You're in a mood by the time you get home. Part of you had wanted to turn back around and head right up to the Egbert manor to interrogate John. Part of you still does.

Why hadn't he seen fit to give you some warning about Jake's little group of hunters? Even if not for your sake specifically, shouldn't he have at least thought to pass Jade a message about it through you? He'd already asked you to deliver his gift of baked goods. You'd opened the little bag to snoop through as you walked through the woods, checking for any notes he might have slipped in with a bit of sleight of hand, but all it contained were cookies.

You'd stolen one for yourself out of spite. The sweet, faintly lemony taste did little to ease your irritation.

Roxy had remained with Nepeta when you excused yourself to head home, content to sit and be lavished with attention and petting. You can only hope she's still got her head on straight enough to come home before the hunters arrive. As if sensing your displeasure, Dave had made himself similarly scarce, perhaps in hopes that you'd cool down during the walk. But he's there waiting when you reach your bit of land, perched in crow form on one of the fence posts surrounding your home and garden.

You have most certainly not cooled down, and it must show on your face. The crow squawks at you and and stretches his wings out, flapping over to a closer post to follow you as you angle towards the gate.

“Give Egbert a break already,” he says, sounding almost exasperated. “He was probably gonna tell you and just chickened out because he knows you get pissy like this.”

“Cowardice is no excuse,” you snap, pushing the wooden gate open. The feeling of your wards washing over you as you cross into their boundaries is a strange but mildly soothing sensation, like a cool breeze in the warm air. You pause, exhaling a breath, and take the time to close the gate behind you. “I wouldn't be 'pissy' if he'd simply deigned to give me a bit of warning. A simple heads up that it might be wiser to stay out of town for a while, just until the people that would like to hunt me for sport take their leave.”

A fluttering of feathers and air, and you feel his small weight settle upon your shoulder, the sharp tips of his talons a mild prickling against your skin through your shirt's fabric. “You know he's a good guy. He's just dense sometimes, alright?”

“You're just willing to forgive him anything because he sometimes gives you the crumbs from his father's desserts.”

Dave caws in your ear, soft and almost somber. “Fuckin' cake crumbs, Rose. How can I ever go back to plain old breadcrumbs? He ruined me."

“Poor you,” you say dryly, but sigh and run your fingertips lightly over his feathered head. “Come. We should probably prepare as best we can.”

 

* * *

 

  
The furniture in your little cottage is all strategically arranged to leave the rug in the center of the room clear. You have to toss aside a haphazardly discarded cloak and a pair of shoes, but it's otherwise a simple matter to roll the rug back and access the circle painted onto the floorboards beneath it.

Magic is more an art than a science as far as you're concerned. Some like it formal and rigid, filling books with precise recipes for potions and exacting instructions for spells. You've always been more of an improviser, working with what feels appropriate and what you have on hand. Summoning demons is, unfortunately, more often best done in the formal style to avoid error. Demons are rather infamous for being resentful and malignant, shirking their duties or causing harm if given any opportunity or leeway at all.

Your methods now would give anyone experienced in the practice a heart attack. The permanent circle painted on your floor is simple and without the many protections most books you've read deem absolutely necessary, but you really haven't had the need for them. Most demons would take advantage. Karkat won't.

The contract is a preexisting one, so the summoning is simple. You fetch a piece of charcoal from the little basket you collect them in beside your hearth and unceremoniously crush it in your hand over the circle. It falls in small chunks and flakes of ash which spontaneously ignite just before hitting the floorboards. With a sudden burst of smoke and a sulfurous smell your contracted demon appears, a glare and a scowl already fixed on his oddly human-looking face.

Demons come in all shapes and sizes, most of them beastly and intimidating. Karkat's sharp claws and teeth certainly fit the bill, but he's otherwise fairly underwhelming. He's too humanoid to be very unsettling, even with his ashy gray skin, and his small, blunt horns are nearly lost in his mess of black hair.

He's shorter than you, too. You always found that kind of funny.

“What,” he snarls, tone flat, and it's probably meant to be threatening but it comes out more vaguely irritated. Truth be told, 'irritated' seems to be his default setting , but that's immensely preferable to the 'murderous' or 'bloodthirsty' options you've encountered with most others of his kind.

You arch an eyebrow, the corner of your lips twitching upwards. “Oh, don't make that face. You'll like this.”

The red and yellow of his eyes seems particularly fiery as he glares at you even harder. “There's never been a single word that came out of your smarmy shithole of a mouth that I've ever liked, Lalonde. I'd have more fun skinning myself with a fucking spoon.”

“Vivid,” comments Dave from where he's lounging across your narrow bed, human-shaped for the moment. Karkat simply flips him off with a clawed finger, eyes remained fixed on you. He always looks oddly tired, you think, noting the dark shadows under his eyes. It certainly doesn't make him any more intimidating.

“I'm tasking you with hunting today,” you say, and you can't help but smirk a little at his momentarily disarmed expression. “I might need to hole up here for a while. It'd be good to stock up on meat while I have the chance.”

He looks almost uncertain for a second, surprise probably coming easier to him than excitement or pleasure. You aren't sure if that's a demon thing or just a Karkat thing. Either way, it's short-lived. Belatedly, like he just remembered he's supposed to be angry at you all the time, he scowls and bristles in an amusingly cat-like manner. “Wipe that smug look off your face,” he snaps. “I get to eat some of it.”

“If you'd like.” You give him leniency and some measure of freedom, and he doesn't take advantage of it to cause you harm or undue trouble. It's an unspoken, unwritten rule of the contract between the two of you, but it's worked well for you so far.

He grits his teeth, and you'd guess he's annoyed that you aren't giving him more to complain about. With a huff, he disappears in another scattering of smoke.

 

* * *

 

  
You leave the garden alone for now. It's within your wards, so you can get what you need from it later even if you have to hole up at home for a while. Better to spend this time foraging, you think.

Only some of what you gather is meant to be eaten. Wild berries and mushrooms, nuts and edible roots, all will certainly help you stretch your food supply if hiding out for a lengthy amount of time becomes necessary. But these woods contribute much to your stock of magical components, too. And if you might be stuck at home for a good while, you might as well be prepared on all fronts. You might have to find ways to keep yourself entertained, and your spellwork and experiments have always been good for that.

Your hands are thoroughly dirtied after a productive few hours of scavenging around in the brush and earth for anything useful. You duck back inside to drop off your basket of goodies to find a pile of dead animals heaped in the middle of the room. There's a few rabbits, a pair of squirrels, and a large bird you can't identify, all piled atop a small deer carcass. You wrinkle your nose at the smell of drying blood, but leave them be for the moment. Messy as that task will be, you'd rather wash up first.

A quick trip to the brook serves well enough for that purpose, and you bring a heavy bucketful of water back with you. A trunk that had been storing tools for the garden is emptied and its contents set aside for now while you sit down outside and set about re-purposing it. There's a complicated bit of spellwork involved here, but the trunk still bears the runes you'd carved into it last time you needed it for this, so at least the work is halved.

When a thudding from inside alerts you to Karkat's return, you've almost finished converting the old trunk back into an icebox. Its insides are coated with a few inches of solid ice, the brook's water frozen solid with some tricky magic, and the old charms you'd worked on the trunk itself keep the ice from melting even in the summer's heat. Karkat emerges from inside your cottage, and you catch sight of the carcass pile through the open door before he lets it slam shut behind him. You think he's added another squirrel or two to the pile.

The demon's got a mangled rabbit clutched in one clawed hand, and his strange tattered tunic is splattered liberally with gore from his hunting. You'd once asked to examine his shirt fabric, curious to see what material from hell might be made of. He'd told you to fuck off.

“This one's mine,” he declared, holding up his prize and looking maybe a little more satisfied than grumpy for once. You shouldn't comment, you know drawing attention to it will ruin his good mood.

You can't help it.

“Did you have fun?” you say with a sly smirk, and his face falls almost immediately into a scowl. Storming past you, he flops onto the ground by the fence and sinks his teeth into the rabbit. You avert your gaze, not particularly interested in watching that bloody display.

While you're finishing up the icebox, your familiar finally returns from wherever he'd fucked off to the moment there was work to be done. The crow alights on the fence above Karkat's head, peering down at the demon and ruffling his feathers.

“Gross.”

“Oh, good,” you say, deceptively casual, and incline your head towards the cottage. “You're just in time to help prepare the meat.” Tilting his head at you, Dave hops off the fence and smoothly changes to his human form before hitting the ground. It's a quick but fairly unsettling process to watch. He crosses to the cottage door, opens it, and you watch as his face falls at the sight of the gory mess within.

“Fuck,” he exclaims, recoiling from the doorway. “Is there any wildlife left out there, or did you slaughter literally every bunny in the forest?”

“You're welcome,” Karkat snarls over his meal, rolling his eyes. His mouth and chin are disconcertingly coated with rabbit blood. “No big deal, I'm just keeping you useless assholes fed. No thanks necessary, I live to fucking serve.”

“Cool,” Dave says, backing away and dropping onto the ground beside the demon. “Then you can deal with the slaughterhouse in there.” Karkat responds with a bloodied hand reaching to shove your familiar away, which Dave arches away from with a grimace and a gagging sound.

You shut the trunk carefully to avoid dislodging the ice lining the lid and make sure it can still close all the way, the sounds of their scuffling a dull background noise to your work. You're content to ignore them until a barking and the sound of pounding paws cuts through their bickering, and you turn just in time to see a large wolf clear your fence in a single bound and tackle Karkat to the earth.

The demon shrieks at the attack, and then a stream of curses flies from his mouth as the wolf proceeds to enthusiastically lick the blood from his jaw. You arch and eyebrow and smirk, standing and stretching.

“Hello, Jade.”

The wolf looks up at you with a toothy grin, unfazed by the demon flailing beneath it. It turns to lope towards you, and changes shape halfway into a girl with a mess of dark hair and bright green eyes. Her shifting isn't completely dissimilar to Dave's, but it's slower and thus slightly more grotesque to watch, even if Jade herself seems completely at ease.

You make a point not to break eye contact anyway. It makes her sad when you give any sign of being unsettled, you think.

“Rose!” She greets you with a bright smile and a hug. Her nails are sharp and claw-like even in this shape, and you can feel the tips of them just faintly through your shirt. “I thought I smelled blood! I see you have an extra helper today.”

“I see you still need to be kept on a goddamn leash,” Karkat mutters from the ground behind her, Dave sitting over him with a smirk.

“John gave me a present for you,” you say, pulling away from her to duck inside and fetch the little bag. You hear Jade's huffing sigh, and when you return she has her hands on her hips and a little frown on her face. For some reason you've never understood, given how relatively little you know of werewolves, her wolf ears linger even in her human form. It's one of the things that had made continuing to live in town unwise for her. Now, they're laid flat against her head with annoyance.

“He could just come see me himself!” she complains, and you shake your head with a smile that feels more like a grimace.

“That's what I said.” Jade huffs again, but she takes the bag from you and her frown fades to a slight pout. She rolls her eyes and digs a cookie out, biting into it with poorly-veiled satisfaction.

“I guess I'll let him off this time,” she concedes, lifting her chin. “But tell him he better visit soon or I'm gonna go see him instead, and then he's gonna have to explain the giant wolf to all the neighbors!”

She's always been a remarkably good sport about the whole werewolf thing. It's admirable, really. You feel bad knowing you have to put a damper on her high spirits, but someone has to warn her, and if her own brother is too cowardly to do it then that burden unfortunately falls on your shoulders.

“I have news from town, too,” you say. She looks curious, but something about your expression must be giving away your displeasure, because her eyebrows knit together with concern.

“News?”

You frown, glancing to the sky while you gather your thoughts. It's already beginning to turn pink and orange as the sun dips towards the horizon. You need to deal with all that meat at some point tonight. It's going to be a messy, unpleasant job. It is definitely the desire to protect your friend and not a desire to procrastinate that has you looking back to Jade with a thin smile.

“Actually, could we go to your place? I want to reinforce the wards around your cave. We can talk on the way.”

 

* * *

 

  
Jade's cave is located in the deepest part of these woods, tucked inside a gully where the roots of a large old tree arch over the small chasm like a natural awning. It's surprisingly cozy for a werewolf's lair. Shelves line the inside, both wooden and carved straight into the walls of the cave, and an old table Jade had dragged out there is heavily laden with pelts and skulls and various trinkets. She's liberally decorated the place with potted plants despite the abundance of greenery surrounding the cave itself, and the earthen floor is covered with a mess of rugs. A nest of pillows and blankets tucked in the back functions as a bed, and you know there's at least a few stuffed animals buried in that mess.

The wards you put up for her are a less intensive version of what you created around your own home, maintained by small charms hung at various points around the cave. While yours can actively bar those who might harm you from entering, these instead subtly divert attention away from the area. It's a neater solution for a place that's already so well hidden by natural means.

Jade sits on the tree roots arching over the gully, kicking her feet in the hollow below while you check each of the ward charms. Dave's perched on her knee, and she idly strokes the tips of her claw-like nails over his wings.

“I don't think it's as big a deal as you're making it out to be!” she says, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I know you haven't met him and don't like trusting anyone ever, but Jake's a good person!”

“Even if he hunts your kind for sport?” you respond dryly without looking away from the charm in your hands. Focusing, you can tell this one could use a touch-up, and you dig through your bag for fresher materials.

“Yes!” she insists. “I know him. He's always wanted to travel and go on adventures and stuff. I'm sure that's what he's gotten involved with all this for. He's not going to turn on his own family, even if one happens to be a monster now.”

Her steadfast belief in her cousin is touching. It's also kind of giving you a headache. You bite back a sigh and shake your head. “Maybe you can trust him. But what about the rest of his party? We know nothing about these people.”

Jade wilts slightly. “Well...yeah. That's true.”

Ugh. You hate having to be the realistic one here. Dragging down Jade's optimism and cheer feels like a crime. You try not to look at her, swapping out some of the old components in the little charm pouch. Blueberry leaves, feverfew, garlic, cloves. Burning the cloves would be more effective, you think. You gather the cloves into your palm, glancing back over your shoulder with what you hope comes across as a comforting smile. “We're just being careful, that's all. Karkat?”

The demon looks your way from where he'd been poking around the entrance of Jade's cave, coming to your side with a bemused frown. You hold out the cloves to him and he sighs, scooping them into his palm and closing his fist around them. A hint of smoke leaks out from between his fingers, and a moment later he drops the now-singed cloves back into your hands, warm and fragrant. You nod, satisfied, and add them to the charm pouch.

Jade watches you work for a quiet moment before sighing and dropping her eyes to the crow sitting on her leg. “I still want to see Jake, though. It's been years.”

You familiar peers up at her face and nips at a lock of Jade's long hair where it hangs near his beak. “I see how it is,” he says with mock offense. “We're not good enough anymore, huh? Nah, who needs magic forest friends when Mr. Jake Egbert's rollin' into town. Or is it Harley? Crocker?”

Jade smiles despite herself and taps his head. “It's English, actually!”

“Jesus. Y'all need to get on the same page with your family naming schemes. Fuck the same page, it's like you're all using entirely different books. Oh shit, twins, what should we name them? How about John Egbert and Jade Harley? Yeah, sure, that makes perfect sense, why should a pair of siblings have the same last name?”

Jade laughs at his nonsensical rambling, and you leave him to the task of cheering her up while you work. He's always good for that, if nothing else.

 

* * *

 

  
Jade generously provides dinner for your little party in the form of a pair of freshly caught and slaughtered bunnies. You leave her to the messy work of skinning them while Karkat gathers some dry wood for a fire. You could all migrate back to your cottage to cook them properly, you suppose, but it seems silly to make the trek when everyone else is perfectly content to just sit down to eat right there in the forest outside Jade's cave. Given Jade does so every day, half the time not even bothering with cooking the meat first, and with Karkat and Dave being a demon and a bird respectively, you know the fire and cooking is mostly for your benefit as it is.

Karkat poofs back into Jade's clearing in a burst of smoke, unceremoniously dropping his armful of wood to the ground. You think it's probably meant to be a defiant gesture, as goes the general attitude of contracted demons. The effect of it is somewhat spoiled by the way he crouches a moment later to brush clear a spot in the dirt and fussily arrange the logs in it. He lights them with a tongue of flame summoned at the tip of his clawed finger despite you not explicitly ordering it. You're fairly certain he doesn't mind his service nearly so much as he'd like you to believe, but you've thus far chosen not to prod him about it. Resentment and rebellion against one's master is probably ingrained into whatever culture exists among demons. Maybe the other demons would make fun of him if he admitted he doesn't hate being contracted to you.

The fire gets going and between the four of you, it's quick work to get the rabbits spitted and roasting over it. By the time they're ready, Dave's shifted back to his crow shape. He tears at his piece of meat with his beak while the rest of you use fingers and teeth.

You catch Jade up on the town gossip. It isn't that Kanaya is the first thing you want to talk about, of course, but her arrival in town is certainly the most interesting local scoop as of late and so you're obligated to fill Jade in. The mention of vampirism doesn't faze her in the least, unsurprisingly. You're not sure whether to attribute that to her being a werewolf, or Jade just being herself. What does catch her attention is your recount of Miss Maryam's lovely dress and her work as a seamstress.

With wide eyes and her wolf ears perked up, Jade nearly bounces in her seat. “It sounds pretty! I wish I could have seen it! Do you think she might come out here sometime? Maybe she would make me a new dress in exchange for some furs...”

You smile indulgently at her, trying not to eye the dress she was already wearing too critically. For a werewolf living off the land in a cave out in the woods, Jade has an absurd fondness for pretty dresses, and wears them whenever possible. As one would expect, they don't hold up to the experience very well. Her current number, bell-sleeved and once a bright-blue, is faded from the sun and being roughly washed in the river, the hems tattered and stained with mud. It makes no sense to you, but you won't pick at the simple things that make your friend happy.

“Aren't you supposed to have an instinctual hatred of vampires or something?” Karkat interrupts from his spot uncomfortably close to the fire. Even knowing he's fireproof, it's a little disconcerting. “It's always vampires vs. werewolves in all the stories.”

“That's probably because you read shitty bodice rippers.” Dave's human voice coming from the crow's beak is always just a little off, a bit sharper and more hoarse. “What's better than one asshole magic monster suitor? Another asshole magic monster suitor, except this one hates the first guy's guts on principle for some gaping plot-hole of a reason. Whatever will our heroine do?”

Karkat scowls, showing off a set of teeth more sharp and pointed than any ordinary predator animal. “The romances I read are complex dramas of love and loss!” Indignant, he straightens from his typical hunch, and you watch one of his feet shift across the earth until it's actually tucked up against the burning logs. He doesn't seem to notice. “And I'm not about those anyway, shitbrain, just...stories! In general!”

Rather than continue to verbally antagonize him, Dave simply flutters over to perch on the demon's head and tugs at a strand of hair with his beak. Karkat hisses and swats at him and Jade rolls her eyes, cutting in while Karkat tries vainly to shoo the crow away. “Those are just stories! I think maybe it's supposed to be about competition for prey or something? And I'm not gonna be eating any people, so it doesn't bother me who she's biting!” Seeming to realize the implications of that statement, she quickly adds, “Y'know, as long as she isn't really hurting anyone. That would bother me plenty!”

“Well,” you say. “I haven't heard any rumors of monsters in the night attacking the townsfolk, so I think we can give her the benefit of the doubt. Whatever she does for sustenance, it at least doesn't involve killing sprees or random maiming of innocents.”

“Aren't you putting an awful lot of faith in a complete stranger? A stranger that literally feeds on humans to survive?” Dave has ceased with his attacks and simply settled between the demon's horns. For his part Karkat seems to have given up resisting, grumpily nudging the burning logs around with his feet so that the fire flares back up with a crackle. From his perch in a nest of coarse demon hair, the crow stares you down knowingly. “Just sayin', she could have a basement full of human cattle she's drinking from or something.”

Jade makes a face at that suggestion, but you just frown. “I don't think it's anything like that,” you protest. “She just...doesn't seem the type.” You try to picture the endearingly awkward woman you'd met callously dragging a chained prisoner to her feet, sweeping them up only to sink her fangs into their neck, their body trembling in her firm grip as she drinks deeply...

You feel your cheeks heat slightly and thank whatever gods are watching out for your likely-damned soul that it's probably too dark for anyone to have noticed. It's a hell of an image. But not one you can truly believe of Miss Maryam.

“She sounded nice to me!” Jade chimes in, and you feel a surge of affection for her, mouthful of undercooked rabbit meat and all. Swallowing, she adds, “You should have her come out here for dinner sometime so I can meet her! Maybe I could bring a deer or something? Do you think she'd like the blood, or is it not the same?”

“Ah. Er.” You pause and catch Dave giving you the most exasperated look a bird can manage. “Well. We realized what she is, but she hasn't actually...admitted to being a vampire.”

“She thinks it's a secret,” Dave adds, helpfully.

Jade frowns at you in confusion, and you tack on with a grimace, “She was trying very hard to play the role of an ordinary human. I'm not sure I have the heart to tell her how bad an actor she is.”

“Really bad,” Dave clarifies.

“Lalonde's immensely and sadly obvious crush on the vampire aside,” Karkat interrupts, and you nearly choke on the bite of rabbit you'd just taken. “Are you ever gonna get the fuck off? I'm not your goddamned perch.” He's gone nearly cross-eyed trying to glare upwards through his bangs at the crow still sitting on his head. Jade gives you a delighted look and you feel your stomach sink, but thank fuck, Dave comes to your rescue, distracting her from the topic of your love life (or lack thereof) by shifting back to his human shape while still atop the demon.

Karkat screeches, flailing under the sudden weight and collapsing to the earth – backwards and away from the fire, fortunately. He might be fireproof, but you're pretty sure birds and human-shaped birds are flammable. Unconcerned with the third-degree burns he might have just avoided, Dave sits triumphantly on the demon's chest, lips curling in a tiny smirk.

“Better?”

Karkat's gray face flushes wan enraged red, and he thrashes violently. “Get your bony ass off me, you rancid piece of shit!” he snarls. The thrashing proves ineffective, Dave simply rolling with the motion like he's riding a bucking bull in a rodeo, and Karkat lurches up to swipe at him with claws instead. Dave arches backwards to avoid them, snickering, but the movement puts him close enough to the fire that you find yourself holding your breath, anticipating an accident that fortunately doesn't come. Still, it's enough to make to intervene, and you rise from your seat.

“Enough,” you say sharply, full of the commanding intent that makes Karkat freeze in place, contractually obligated to obey. You have no such binding contract with your familiar, so you setting for standing and catching him by the collar to drag him off your demon. You release your hold on Karkat as you park Dave on the log you'd been sitting on, and by the time you turn back the demon has scrambled over to the relative safety of Jade's side. He glares at you over the fire, eyes shining unnaturally in its light like a cats and bristling when Jade drops a hand onto his shoulder.

“He started it,” he snaps before you can say a word, and you sigh.

“I know. I don't care. Don't make me have to give you specific orders not to gut my familiar.” Beside you, Dave opens to mouth to make some comment and you cut him off before he can. “And you, stop antagonizing him to the point that he wants to. I shouldn't have to play parent to a demon and a bird, but here I am. Can you two behave now, or does a time-out need to be invoked?”

Dave wilts a little, frowning as he mutters a yes, mom. On the other side of the fire, however, Karkat bristles at the lecture.

“Don't treat me like one of your human children, witch,” he snarls. With a sudden poof of smoke and sulfur smell, he vanishes, leaving Jade's hand hovering in midair where his shoulder had been. You aren't terribly concerned. Tantrums and storming off in a huff are part of the Karkat Vantas brand, you've long since learned. Dave's eyebrows knit together, just barely visible over the top of his tinted glasses, but he says nothing.

Jade, however, aims an unhappy frown at the spot Karkat had just vacated, her ears drooping, and you feel a bit guilty. Fuck. She'd seemed so happy to have so much company at once while you were all working to prepare dinner. You'd known she got lonely out in the woods by herself just by the frequency with which she visited you. You know John doesn't come out to see her as much as he should, clueless as he can be to others' feelings at times. You suspect that Dave visits her sometimes when he flies off somewhere on his own to make up for it, but he isn't so independent and prone to wandering as Roxy. Should you have intervened sooner to keep your servants' bickering from boiling over like that? Or just stayed out of it and let them scuffle and get over it and carry on as they often do?

You press your lips together, wondering if you should apologize for spoiling dinner. But Jade just sighs and picks her rabbit haunch back up tearing a vicious bite out of it. She chews quietly for a moment, then swallows and shoots Dave a mischievous, slightly too-cheerful look. “Did you call Rose mom?” she asks, and Dave's pale face goes a little red.

“That was a mom thing she was doing. She said so herself!”

You watch Jade's smiling face a moment longer before sitting back down. Damn it. She'd never complain about being lonely and you know it, and you both love and hate her for it.

Jade looks between you and Dave for a moment before propping her chin up in her hands, her ears twitching in a manner you've come to interpret as thoughtful. “You really do look like you could be related, though. Not that you look like you could be a mom!” She grins apologetically at you and shrugs. “But you do look like you could be twins. Do all familiars look that much like their witches?”

You arch an eyebrow. Right, she'd never actually seen Roxy in her human shape, your other servant preferring to spend her time at your house as a cat. “It's common for familiars to end up resembling their masters a little when they first take a human form. They're animals first, after all. Some have enough experience with humans in general to come up with an entirely unique appearance for themselves, but many end up basing it at least somewhat on the person they have on hand for reference – namely, their witch.” You shoot a cutting glance your familiar's way. “Dave simply decided to steal my face in its entirety.”

Jade giggles, a sharp white canine glinting in the firelight. “So Dave's just lazy?”

“It's a good face,” Dave cuts in. It could be considered a compliment to you, but you know him all too well and choose to wait a few moments before you let yourself feel flattered. So you aren't surprised when he continues with, “She just smears that black shit all over it all the time, so you probably couldn't tell. Just figured it's my sacred duty to take the opportunity I was given and free this face from the chains of her godawful makeup.”

“And yet you hide half of said face with those stupid glasses,” you point out.

“Don't hate,” he says, which you're pretty sure is crow for shut up they were shiny. “C'mon, who wore it best?” Dave tosses an arm around your shoulders, sliding his dark glasses up with his other hand and leaning his head close so you're temple to temple. His pale hair tickles at your forehead where his bangs sweep to the side, and the color is such a perfect match to your own you can't even tell which strands of blond belong to who. You know that if you went without your dark makeup – or convinced him to put some on – the two of you would be nearly identical. Even your figure does little to differentiate you from his more masculine build, unfortunately slight as your curves are.

His eyes, though, when he chooses to show them off, are an intense, bloody red to contrast your violet. You don't know why he took a little creative liberty with that particular feature when he decided to borrow your face.

Jade laughs at his theatrics as he gestures between your mirrored faces with a flourish, and you grant him only a few moments to make his point before swiftly jabbing him in the side with an elbow. His resulting squawk is distinctly birdlike, and Jade's shoulders shake with mirth.

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitches up just slightly and you spare him any further punishment. If it makes Jade smile, you suppose you can bear his antics.

 

* * *

 

  
Dave is quiet the whole walk home. Used to what often feels like a nonstop stream of words from his mouth (or beak), it strikes you as odd. He'd seemed fine while you finished eating and chatting with Jade. Then again, you know he has a hell of a poker face sometimes. Perhaps he was more bothered by that bit of conflict earlier than you'd realized?

You kind of want to pester him about it, but he'd switched back to bird shape the moment you left Jade's and disappeared into the trees. You're sure he's close somewhere, as always, but spotting the crow in the darkness of the branches above, set against the night sky, is an exercise in futility. It's probably safe to assume he doesn't want to talk.

He still swoops in through open door when you step into your cottage, shifting shapes before even touching down so that he has to slow to a stop on human legs. You notice that the pile of animal carcasses has been cleared away and the blood cleaned up. Karkat's work, probably. You wouldn't be surprised to find the icebox full of already-skinned and butchered meat. Tidying up messes seems to calm him, you've noticed, and despite his general attitude, he's never been one to hold grudges for very long.

“Dave?” you prompt gingerly, setting your bag down. He's digging through a cabinet by your hearth, shuffling through your meager collection of dishes. You haven't the faintest idea what he's doing.

He glances over his shoulder at you, and his frown is determinedly unreadable. “So are you seriously just gonna ignore the Maryam thing because you're weak as shit to pretty girls? That's a fatal flaw if I've ever heard one.”

You flush and press your lips together, crossing your arms across your chest. “What are you talking about?”

Dave sighs, turning his face back to the cabinet. “Really? John and Jade's cousin showing up with a bunch of monster hunters puts you on instant high alert, but an actual vampire moves into town and all it takes is like, twenty minutes for you to decide she's completely harmless? Jesus, Rose, why do you think the hunters are coming here in the first place?”

You frown at his back. “You think they tracked her here.” Fuck. He has a point. “That doesn't necessarily mean she's a threat. A group of hunters like that probably shoots first and questions the relative goodness of their quarry never.”

“It doesn't prove she's dangerous,” he admits, and pulls from the cabinet a wide, shallow dish of beaten metal, turning to you and holding it out. “But we don't have any real proof that she isn't. So get your usual paranoia working again and look for some.”

You take the dish from him, and it takes a moment for you to understand what he's suggesting. You arch an eyebrow at him, surprised and mildly annoyed at his having stolen your title as the rational one. “I thought you hated doing this.”

“I do,” he sighs, and shakes his head. “Let's just get it over with.”

 

* * *

 

  
You have a particular talent for scrying. You just don't have cause to do it very often.

Dave sets everything else up while you fetch water to fill the dish. You return to a table and chair arranged in the middle of the room for you, a few candles laid out and already lit atop it. The dish is carefully set in the middle of them all, and the metal of it makes the reflections of the candlelight in the water that much more intense.

Your familiar is once again a crow, and he perches on the edge of the dish while you sit down and mentally prepare yourself. Scrying takes a clear mind and intense focus, but also the flexibility and openness needed to let the images come to you. You meditate on the flickering lights in the water for a long few minutes, and for once, Dave doesn't distract you.

He makes this a great deal easier for you. The two of you are already bound magically, so it's relatively easy to use him as a focus rather than going in purely with second sight. You dip your fingertips in the water, brush them over his feathered head, and close your eyes to concentrate and find that connection. It seems to fit together like a matched lock and key, and when you feel that sense of everything clicking into place, you open your eyes to stare into the water's surface. An image of yourself is projected there, and it shifts as Dave ducks his head and ruffles his feathers up.

“Ugh, this is weird,” he says, and you can hear it twice over, once from his beak and again in you head.

“This was your idea,” you point out, keeping your eyes fixed on the view from his eyes being displayed for you in the dish. “Now let's go.”

An irritable caw, and he takes flight, swooping out an open window and quickly up into the night sky. The scene displayed for you is intensely disorienting from his literal bird's eye view, but you force yourself to ignore the momentary dizziness that strikes you and keep focused. He knows the way without you telling him, and as the crow flies (ha) it's not long at all before the old Egbert manor comes into view.

He drops onto the ledge of a high rooftop, and the view of the town at night stretched out before him is quite stunning. Dave's voice is as clear to you now as if he'd still been sitting in front of you. The sensation of it ringing directly in your head is, admittedly, pretty damn uncomfortable. You aren't very fond of these experiences either, if you're being completely honest with yourself.

“Don't suppose Maryam let it slip during your flirting session where her room is?”

You wrinkle your nose, answering him dryly. “No such overt invitations were issued. We'll have to search the old-fashioned way.”

His answering snort carries across your connection just as clearly as his words. “Yeah, piggybacking on a magic bird's vision and peeking in windows. Very old-fashioned. It's so retro, your vampire's probably itching to make a fashion statement out of it.”

“Hush. Focus, Dave.”

He darts from window to window, sneaking looks inside. The manor is well-lit at this time of night, when many of the houses below have already extinguished most if not all of their lights. From what you can see through the windows, much of the manor is under construction, furniture covered with white sheets and various supplies left in different corners. You wonder if she's hired local help to fix it up, and if she's sleeping somewhere inside while they work on it.

A few rooms look to be in use, though, fully furnished and stylishly decorated. Dave peers through a high window and you frown contemplatively. There's nothing to see, because dark, heavy curtains cover the window completely. Your familiar flutters to another window that seems to look into the same room, but it's similarly blocked.

“Looks like jackpot to me,” Dave says. “Gotta make sure the big bad sun doesn't get so much as a finger in their while she's getting her beauty sleep. Burning to a crisp sure as hell would defeat the purpose of said beauty sleep, after all, unless someone's got a thing for tall, dark, and thoroughly roasted.”

You sigh. “We're looking for proof of wrongdoing, remember? Finding her bedroom is useless if we can't see anything.”

There's a pause, and nothing happens that stands out to you, but Dave stills and glances about with sharp, quick motions.

“Hold up,” he says. “I think I can hear something.”

He flies down to the ground level and pauses on a ledge, listening carefully, before edging towards a window a few feet to the left. It's a grand, oversized thing that looks out on the front garden, set in the wall of what looks like a drawing room undergoing renovations. Out of place in the mostly empty, half-painted room, Kanaya Maryam is as impeccably put together as the last time you saw her.

She's fully dressed at this time of night, unsurprisingly, and her footsteps in her fashionable heels almost echo in the mostly-empty room. Dave leans in cautiously to watch as she crosses the room to a nondescript door in the corner. She slides a key into a lock on the door and pops it open, then descends down a set of stairs set just beyond the door, closing it behind her.

“Basement dungeon,” Dave whispers in your head. “What did I tell you?”

“Shut up,” you snap, and watch the door intently.

Dave listens, for once, and as one you sit in silence staring at the door. The minutes stretch out, five and then ten and then twenty. Twice, your familiar begins to make some comment and is sharply cut off.

The third time, he says quickly before you can interrupt him, “She could be down there all night.”

“You're the one who wanted definitive proof. Deal with it.”

You don't have to wait all night, as it turns out. A moment later the doorknob turns, and you both fall silent while Dave stares the door down. It opens and Kanaya steps back out, not a hair out of place. There's a faint frown on her lovely lips, and you're so distracted by it you almost miss what's in her hand.

“Rose,” Dave begins quietly, but you see it before he needs to point it out.

She's loosely holding a filled champagne glass, the liquid inside the rich red of a fine wine but distinctly thicker. Kanaya Maryam sips at her glass of blood with a distracted expression as she disappears through a different doorway further into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't respond to every single comment because i thought it would get repetitive for me to just screech my gratitude at everyone, but please know that i screamed incoherently over every single comment and i'm immensely grateful for every single one!!
> 
> bother me on tumblr @ tinybro.tumblr.com


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